


A Girl In Every Port Project

by yesimcastielsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesimcastielsgirl/pseuds/yesimcastielsgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Another psychic</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Girl In Every Port Project

Y/N = your name

 

The Impala stood gleaming in the sun, all black and silvery and badassery on four tires. The car begged for leather and jeans, for hard rock and speeding down empty country roads under full moons. The two men who stood beside it wearing off the rack suits and ten dollar ties made a strange match for the vehicle.

“Well that was a big bunch of nothing useful,” said Sam Winchester. Today he was posing as Agent Cook to his brother's Agent Clifford. He shook back his long brown hair and squinted up at the sun. “Who's next on the list? We may as well split up and cover more ground, so the next two I guess.”

“Lemme see.” Dean Winchester pulled his official “I am a serious FBI agent dude for real” notebook out of his jacket's inner pocket and flipped it open. “A dog groomer and great, another psychic. You take the groomer but don't bring back any dogs.” He pointed a finger at his brother. “Jerk.” “Bitch.”

Well satisfied with that ritual exchange of insults, Dean strolled down the sidewalk looking for Cypress Cove. _Stupid name for a street, I don't know what a cypress looks like but there ain't any around here._ When he located the shop front he stood there, examining it. The show window in the front held a variety of what he considered useless crap – pretty crystals, some statues that were supposed to be fairies, something that looked like a wand, some old books piled artfully on a silky piece of cloth. Dean didn't see a single thing that indicated to him that there was anything supernatural about this shop or its contents.

 

The bell over the door jangled when he opened it and stepped inside. He'd expected one of those smelly incense things to affront him, patchouli or whatever hippies were using nowadays, but instead he was hit with the smell of sugar cookies. The shop was tidy, a little crowded with low glass cases maybe but neat and colorful. “Just a minute!” Dean swiveled his head around in the direction of the female voice, following it around a wall into the next room. His gaze did a slow travel over the female who'd spoken where she stood stretching up, apparently trying to reach a book from a shelf that was just a little out of her reach. Nice legs, a very nice ass in tight jeans, some smooth skin showing where the blue shirt lifted, _Was that a tattoo? Interesting_ , a lot of hair caught up in some kind of knot thing. He didn't realize that he was smiling when the woman turned around and her eyes caught on his green ones. “Let me give you hand with that.” Dean swaggered over to the lady, standing a little bit too close and giving his best I'm-a-charming-bastard smile as he reached up to the top shelf of books. “This was it, Pure Magic?”

You managed not to drop your mouth open and just gape at the man leaning over you and fetching down the book you'd wanted. Tall, broad and built, his shoulders just barely contained in the navy suit coat. You almost didn't notice the freckles or the smile on those plump perfect lips. His eyes were just.. astounding. Green and gold, framed by long thick lashes, there was amusement and attraction and something else in those eyes and you knew you were pretty much toast.

“Oh, yes. Thanks!” You took the proffered book and held it in front of your chest, as if it could protect you from all the charm pouring off the man. “I didn't, I thought I could – was there something you wanted?” Because he really didn't look like your normal customer or even someone dropping in for curiosity's sake. No he did not. You didn't quite scurry around the counter. You were not hiding behind it, no indeed. You could feel the blush rising up over your face as he followed you.

Dean was smiling at your turn of phrase, but he recalled himself to the part he was playing and reached into his jacket for his fancy, bonafide fake badge. “Agent Clifford, FBI, ma'am. I need to ask you some questions about the disappearances that have been happening the last couple of weeks.” He flipped the badge closed, trading it for his official notebook. “You are Y/N Y/L/N, right?” At your nod he continued.

You weren't listening though, not really. Not paying attention to the words, just to the sound of his deep voice and the way his eyes flicked from the notepad in his hand and back to you. You didn't use your gift very often, and almost never without serious thought beforehand. You never would be able to explain why you reached out and took Agent Clifford's hand.

Well first of all his name wasn't Clifford, it was Dean Winchester, and with that name came a flood of images and sensations. A black car speeding through the night, competent hands racking a clip into a gun, racing through the woods at night after something, some frightening glimpses of monsters with teeth and claws and soulless eyes, and strongest of all, the slide of skin on skin, hot kisses and the strength of his arms around you, your moans mixing with the sound of his heavy breathing.

“Y/N? Hey are you okay? Hey.” He was holding you by your upper arms, shaking you, his brows drawn down in concern over those incredibly green eyes. “Are you with me? Hey.” For his part, Dean was startled when you had taken his hand, more startled at the surge of heat that traveled through him from that contact. He watched your eyes suddenly dilate, skin flushing, your breathing hitch. He could see your pulse pounding in the delicate skin of your throat. He knew what those signs meant, but even he had never coaxed them with just holding hands. Dean was feeling fairly hot himself, his tie too tight, his pants uncomfortably binding.

You focused back on reality, finding yourself holding on to the lapels of his jacket, leaning into the grip he had on your arms. “Dean? Your name is Dean and you're a hunter, not an FBI agent.” Your voice was as steady as it was going to be with excitement flooding through every cell. Your head tipped back as he leaned over you, and his mouth was on yours and holy gods it was everything a kiss should be. Those plump lips were pressed against yours, a skilled motion teasing yours apart with his tongue to let it slip into your mouth, his arms sliding around your back and waist to pull you snugly against his warmth. You weren't sure who hummed into the kiss, one or both of you, didn't care, your arms around his neck and your fingers tugging at the dirty blonde of his hair.

When you finally broken away to gasp for air, Dean was panting down at you. “Nope, not an FBI agent. Damn Y/N this is.. I want.. Do you?” You understood what he meant because you wanted the same thing. You were about to reply, and reply by dragging him upstairs to your apartment over the shop, when the shop bell jingled again. You jumped back from Dean as quickly as if he had shocked you, hands fluttering over your face and shirt and doing no good whatsoever.

An even taller man in a dark navy suit approached the counter. His brows were lifted, either in concern or curiosity, and his brown hair was way too long for an FBI agent. “Everything all right here, Agent?” Dean was giving the other man a murderous stare, smoothing down his tie and adjusting his belt and everything else. “Yeah, yeah we're fine. I'll see you later today, Miss Y/N. 6:00?” Dean Winchester must have noted the time your shop closed, on his way inside.

“Yes, that works. I'll see you then.” Amazingly enough you sounded normal to your own ears, not like the panting mess you'd been moments ago. “Agent Clifford” gave you a serious nod then, business like, but his eyes were green and molten gold, skimming hot over you as if he couldn't wait to undress you and get his hands all over you. You made some sound that didn't mean anything and nodded back, pressing your thighs together and holding on to the counter for support. Six o'clock could not arrive fast enough for you.

As they left the shop, Sam turned to his brother incredulously. “Dude did you just arrange to hook up with the psychic??”

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Girl In Every Port Project on tumblr. I do not own Supernatural nor any of its characters.


End file.
